


Contaminate

by startwithsparks



Series: MMOM 2013 [8]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Masturbation, Mud, Other, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even a Horseperson has simple pleasures to indulge in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contaminate

He waded slowly into the river, first just dipping one pale toe into the water, watching as oil glimmered soft rainbows along the surface. Then gradually one foot submerged, and then the other, kicking up clouds of dirt in the brackish as he descended deeper. He squeezed the silt between his toes, a smile working its way across his sharp face as it squished around them, cold and supple against his skin. He loved the feel of the dirt almost as much as he loved watching the water blacken and gleam around his limbs. Each movement stirred that much more dirt and debris from the river bottom until he was waist-deep in the murky water.

His fingers skated across the surface of the water, dancing on the ribbons of grime that flowed from his body. If he held perfectly still - which he almost never could, not for longer than a heartbeat or two - he could feel the river flowing around him, sending his gifts downstream. Water was such an extensive, versatile canvas. Over seventy percent of the earth and nearly sixty percent of the human body was water, and nothing pleased him more than how careless the world was with it. There was something to the esoteric concept that a drop of contamination in the ocean could then be found in the whole ocean, because every oil spill, every drug pissed down the drain, every dumped chemical, every battery that ended up seeping into some underground water system, it all compounded to slowly eat away at the world's idea of "fresh". And what did man do to compensate for it? More chemicals.

The thought made a soft laugh bubble up past his lips and he waded deeper, the water cutting across jagged ribs and colorless flesh. Here, the current was stronger, almost enough to make the waif drift like a leaf down the river. But he was lead, he was tar, he was sulfuric acid. His feet stayed heavy on the bottom as he reached the middle of the river, the water rushing over his head, tendrils of white hair twisting around his face.

There was an advantage to not breathing, and Pollution opened his eyes to stare into the murky water around him, slipping past his oil-soaked skin and on downstream. There was nothing but grimy gray surrounding him, so thick that he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Pleased, he drew his hands back through the water, letting his fingers wave and trail with the pulse of the stream around him. Once they reached slick skin again, he dragged them down his emaciated torso towards his cock, wrapping spidery-thin fingers around himself.

His eyes fell closed, the darkness behind his eyelids as familiar to him as the darkness that surrounded him. And the longer he stayed here, the blacker the water would get around him, and the more he would be able to touch. He had his hands in a little bit of everything already, but the more he could contribute to earth's inevitable destruction the more content he felt. That wasn't the part that aroused him, though... It was the feeling of lingering in that swamp of chemicals and muck, of feeling it inside his skin and out; cloying, suffocating, sticking to his flesh and seeking out every hidden space in him, spaces no human - nor Horseperson - hands could ever find. He was the only one who knew how to seek out those places within himself and fill them. No one could bring him the pleasure that he knew how to bring himself.

He arched his feet, burrowing deeper in the mud, feeling it turn to slime against his skin and cake the soles of his feet. Bubbles floated up from his lips as he let out a groan, twisting his hand around the tip of his cock, stroking harder as he felt himself sink into the mire. The feel of the mud sucking at his feet, climbing up the inside of his legs, threatening to swallow him down into the ground, just made him squirm deeper and stroke harder. He could feel oil leeching into the dirt, the water around him turning caustic and poisoned, and it would only get worse once his body shuddered and spilled into the tide.

He stayed there, basking in the soiled stream that flowed around him, until the worst of it had been carried down, away, the tips of his oily tentacles reaching as far as his will and this river could carry them. It was only when the water around him started to clear that the rush bled out of his body, and he started back to the shoreline.

The water wicked off his skin in thick rivulets, mud caked around his nail-beds and bits of debris in his lank hair. He slumped onto the shore, watching as the glimmering pools on the surface of the river slipped away and dissolved into countless tiny particles the moment his skin no longer touched it. He could probably sink into the ground here as easily as he sunk into the water, find a new outlet to spend himself into, leave a grease spot in the grass as the only evidence he was ever there. He _could_ , but lying here watching the river wash away his contributions was almost as enjoyable for him. He curled up on his side, reaching out with one hand to trail his fingers in the water lapping at the shore, lightly dozing as the sun dried the mud to his skin.

What better way to spend the afterglow than watching green turn to black, grass dying in a perfect Horseperson-shaped design, like a chalk line for the slaughter of Mother Nature. He wiggled his toes, feeling the mud flake off between them, leaving smooth skin below, and rolled onto his stomach. The grass under him withered where he moved, leaving little behind but a soggy brown puddle as he drew up onto his hands and knees, then clamored to his feet. He stretched, reached for the clothes he'd left lying on the bank, and tugged them on as he made his way back to the shiny black Mercedes idling patiently on the shoulder of the nearby road.


End file.
